Forever Afraid of Being Loved
by Lady of the Old World
Summary: - So young when the pain had begun, now forever afraid of being loved... - Haku's thoughts on her life. Haku is referred to as trans feminine. Runs with the assumption that she survived the Land of Waves arc. Meets up with Shippuden. Rated for non-descriptive, brief gore.


**This one is about Haku, in first person past tense. It runs with the theory that she** **– yes, I said _she_ , come at me with your pitchforks and torches, she's a trans woman in this ****– survived the events of the Land of Waves arc. Once again, meets up with Shippuden.**

 **Disclaimer: Never has been mine, never will be.**

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My earliest memories are ones I both love, and loath.

I had a purpose, then, so small and insignificant as it was. I had a family that loved me, even though I never had any siblings, nor did I ever know any cousins or other extended family. My parents were simple folk, farmers that did good work in tilling the fields and rising livestock. Neither of those are easy things, in tiny, war-ravaged, snowy Kirigakure. I like to think that I was a happy child, who expected nothing ore from my parents than what they could give, but I sometimes wonder if that were at all the case. One of the things I am wholly sure of, however, is that I was different even then. I knew no other boys or girls my own age, but I looked at my parents and saw what I would grow up to be. Rather, I looked at my mother, and saw what I knew I would grow up to be. She humored me as much as she could without alerting my father to how different I was, and I was content. Those are some of the reasons that I love my earliest memories.

But, as with all sweet, simple things, it was not to last. I was still young, perhaps about six or seven, when I discovered my mother's power flowing through me. I did not know it then, when I first clumsily froze a patch of water and marveled at the wondrous thing I could do, but that power – that _kekkei genkai_ – had been part of my mother's family for generations, perhaps even centuries. I knew nothing of the civil war that had ravaged my home Land of Water, when I first discovered my abilities, but I would come into first hand contact with its affects very soon. Overjoyed and filled with the sort of wonder that only happy children possess, I ran to tell my mother – _look, Mama, look at what I can do!_ I sometimes yearn for even a bit of that unspoiled, innocent joy once more. My mother scolded me harshly, even slapped me across the face, the moment she saw what I could do. She had never hit me before; for that matter, neither had my father I was confused and afraid, unable to understand why this was happening.

Wasn't she proud of me? Where had these powers come from, and weren't they wonderful? No, she was not proud of me; she was afraid for my life. These powers had come from her family, and I must never, ever use them ever again if I wanted our family to remain happy and whole. Even now, I do not know if she intended to threaten me, or simply to try and impress upon my child-self the gravity of the situation. Though I will never know, I am inclined to think it was the latter of the two options. After all, tears streamed down her cheeks, pinking her usually pale complexion, and she hugged me closely and fiercely as she spoke. However, it matters not; at least, not any more. Later that night, my father arrived home, but it was not a happy homecoming. He had brought a mob with him, and their sole purpose was made clear when the lynched my mother. I will never forget her screams, or how she begged them to spare me even as they peeled back her flesh and ripped it away from her body. Eventfully, they tired of their torture, and simply hung her from a tree. I still wake screaming from nightmares of this event.

That is why I loathe my earliest memories. That they have such a power over me, even now, sickens me. But, that is a subject to be addressed at a later point. Enraged beyond words at seeing my own father participate in torturing my mother to death, my kekkei genkai reacted to my anger and sorrow. I didn't know what it was called, then, but it mattered not. My Certain-Kill Ice Spears left everyone but myself a bloody mass of flesh and bone. I still dream of this, as well, though with less horror and revulsion attached to it than with my mother's murder. Even if I had ever wanted revenge for what was done to my mother, I exacted it myself the very same night, making it a moot point. However, things after that were not so clear. I was alone in the world, orphaned and unwanted. A scrap of a child without a purpose or anyone to devote myself to. Rummaging through trash bins for scraps of discarded food was how I survived, even sometimes having to fight off the wild dogs that roamed the streets.

And then, I met _him_.

Momchi Zabuza was, at first, simply a man with the same eyes as myself. Eyes that had seen too much death, that were almost weary of the world and its cruelties. And then, in all of a moment, he became more. He became my Master, my purpose for living, my reason to continue existing in this world. He asked me to become his weapon, and I readily accepted. As one of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist, Zabuza was technically a jounin as well, and employed by the Fourth Mizukage. As his apprentice, I myself technically received genin status, though I never troubled myself over rankings. So long as I could continue to be useful to my Master, that was all that mattered. Time passed, and we soon left the Land of Water, as his missions were often long and required us to travel across much of the Elemental Lands. We came across a boy that I knew felt the same as myself, before we left our homeland, and though I learned his name was Kimimaro, we quickly continued on.

Though days became weeks and weeks in turn months, followed by years, I never quite forgot that boy, odd as it may sound. I would find myself remembering him every once in a great while, and though I knew nothing beyond his name, I still felt a sense of kinship with him. After all, I didn't often come across people with the same eyes as myself. But none of that truly mattered. Nearly ten years of constant training passed more quickly than I could ever have imagined. I perfected my use of my family's bloodline trait under Zabuza's harsh, efficient tutelage. I never complained, simply because I enjoyed being pushed to and past my limits. If it meant that I could better serve him, then anything was worth it. We made very short returns to Kiri every few years, and my skills were assessed each time. My technical rank rose, though I still never cared for it. By the time I was fourteen, I was considered on par with most Mist jounin, though my Master (and thus the other six Swordsmen) remained in a class all his own.

Over the years, we often came into contact with the Hunter Nin branch of Kiri's ANBU. My intelligence and efficiency (if distaste) for killing made me a candidate early on. I learned different techniques throughout my on-again, off-again training with their members, and increased my own knowledge and intelligence on my own time. Though I would never truly work for the Mizukage, I was considered a member of the so nicknamed "Undertaker Squad" around the same time I was considered a jounin. I received a mask, and though I never felt any sort of attachment to it, I found that it was useful to have. No-one could seek revenge if their loved one/family member/friend's killer was faceless, after all. Perhaps it was dishonest of me, but I never felt any sort of shame in it. I was Zabuza's weapon and student first and foremost. That was something that would never change; I would have betrayed the Village without thought for my Master's sake.

I might have loved him, if I ever truly understood what romantic love meant. Of course, I was only his weapon. If he wished for closeness of a physical nature, he sought out women of the night, and never the same one twice. It never bothered me, not really. Even if I did love him, I knew it was never a possibility between us. I may have seen myself as a woman, and though my looks may have fooled anyone who didn't inquire too deeply, my Master would always know the truth. He once asked me if I ever felt emotions. If I ever had desires, or feelings outside of my cold, analytical nature. My answer was simply that I was a weapon for him to use; feelings and desires were of no use to me. And, truly, I only ever wished to perform perfectly as he required it of me. And, well, if I ever felt anything or desired anything, what was the point? I had chosen my life, and I would never have any regrets about it. I was Momochi Zabuza's weapon, and that was more than enough.

Then, we were hired by Gato. I never questioned our employers, simply because it was never my place to do so. I was and am merely a weapon, after all. Watching my Master's fight with Hatake Kakashi the Copy Nin, I was never once of the impression that this man and his genin team would be our undoing. (Though, I must admit, it was strange to use my skill as a Hunter-nin on my own Master.) Even when I met one of those genin myself, nothing struck me as out of place or extraordinary about them. Then came our final confrontation on the bridge. The blonde boy whom I had spoken with in that meadow – who had flattered me by so easily and genuinely believing that I was female – was the one to best me. Having failed my Master, I asked him to kill me. And yet, even in that moment, I found that my death would have been better served to save Zabuza's life. I could still perform one last act of service to my Master and teacher.

I jumped in front of Hatake Kakashi's Chidori knowingly and willingly. It sunk into my chest, and the pain nearly made me black out. I was prepared for my death. I wanted it with a keenness that startled me. After everything I had lived through, after everything that I had seen, I wanted my death to be worth more than my life had been. I had failed Zabuza as his weapon, but perhaps I could redeem myself by being his shield. I didn't know it then, but I wouldn't be leaving this world so easily. Much like medic nin consume poisons to make themselves immune, and to make their own blood poisonous, we of the Hunter-nin followed a similar practice. At least, I was taught to; I have never questioned if this were a branch-wide practice. In any case, my body produced the effects of a death-like state, sucking me into a coma to being healing the damage as best it could. With the mixture of healing agents and toxins in my blood hindering the process, it was no wonder I was pronounced dead and buried as so.

Coming back to life – for lack of a better term – was certainly an odd experience. Unburying myself was, however, certainly the odder of the two. Alone in the world for the first time in a decade, as I was and still am under the impression that Zabuza was dead, I found myself seeking out the only sort of assurance that I had at the time. I made my way back to Kiri, and took my place among the ranks of their shinobi. I became acquainted with the Lady Mizukage, during that time, and found myself feeling something like accepted. Despite being now officially a Kirigakure jounin, I had no desire to ever train anyone else. I worked full time with the ANBU and Hunter-nin squad, and socialized as little as possible. As I grew, I found that I was blessed in only one aspect; my appearance never matured into what most would expect of a male. I retained my slender physique and feminine looks, and finally slowly came to peace with myself as I was. I introduced myself as a woman, and lived as such, though I never formed any sort of relationships.

I have a purpose as one of Lady Mizukage's guards, but I still find myself missing and grieving Zabuza.


End file.
